
ELS 



CLINTON 
SCOLLARD 





Class yS 2.7^2. 

Book -BS 



Cop}Tiglit N°_ 



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COPl'RIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Of this Edition <?/ Blank Verse Pastels 
One Hundred and Twenty-Five Copies have 
been printed. This Copy is Number JTT- 



yo(^*^4,^''^^h€CiAc^, 



Blank Verse 
Pastels 



Clinton Scollard 




Clinton, New York 

George William Browning 
1907 



3 5- 

CopyrighUd, 1907, by Clinton Scollard. ' ' f 



UiHARYflf CONGRESS 
Two Otttii RsGilviid 

SEP 4 «90/ 
copy B/ 



CONTENTS 

BEAUTY 7 

SLEEP, THE ALMONER 8 

THE WIND BY THE SEA .... 9 

A NIGHT ETCHING 11 

LONELINESS 12 

VAGRANT WIND OF AUTUMN ... 13 

NIGHT VOICES . 15 

AT KENILWORTH 17 

CARDINAL FLOWERS 20 

TWO MEN 21 

CRICKET 25 

AN ATHENIAN NIGHT 26 

A HARMONY 28 

AN EDINBURGH TWILIGHT . , . . 29 

A MOSLEM ROSARY 33 

ABU ABAS 35 

VALENTINE AND ASTERIUS .... 36 

THE ROSE OF HELL 41 

A SPRING AFTERNOON 42 

THE ANCHORITE 44 

A SEA SHELL 48 



CONTENTS (Continued) 

A GEODE 49 

THE HOUSE AT HEBRON .... 50 

A LUTE SPEAKS 51 

OUT OF THE HEART OF WINTER . . 52 

THE MAPLE . 54 

BY ELISHAS FOUNTAIN 56 

MOODS OF THE MARSHES .... 59 

AGATHA ........ 61 

DAISIES 65 

AT ROXMOR 67 



If four blank walls be miney and every wind 
That goes careening through the vasts of sky 
Makes free with my shrunk casement y and my hearth 
Shows but a feeble flame, and the bare floor 
Has but the dust for carpet y am I poor ? 
Nayy I am very Crcesus ! that — and more! 
For no swart Mede can rob me of my dreams 
Wherewith I hang a rapt madonna therey — 
A face Murillo paintedy — drape rich folds 
Of gold-shot damask round yon oriel y 
And heap about me rugs of velvet pile 
Deft-wrought upon the looms of Kermanshah ! 
Poor! Is he poor who has God's gift of dreams ? 



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BEAUTY 
We are thy ceaseless worshipers, O thou, 
Changing yet ever fadeless ! Old, yet young 
As day's matutinal rapture, or the spring's 
Glad thrill of bourgeoning ! E'en when the earth 
Loses its fair, luxuriant livery. 
Thou sett'st thy seal of glory on the robe 
Of ermine that investitures the hills. 
Nor time nor place can blur the unminted gold 
Of the poised sun at noon-tide, nor the white 
Sequestered purity of the midnight stars, 
Nor the miraculous pageantries of dawn; — 
All thine, all thine, O spirit multiform ! 
If youth immortal be, lo, thou art one 
With immortality and innocence ! 
So, kneeling at thy shrine, we can but draw. 
Through clear gradations, closer unto God ! 



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SLEEP, THE ALMONER 
Adown the voids and vastnesses of night 
Haste thou to me, O almoner of Rest ! 
Come with thy fardel full of fairest dreams, 
And strew them round about me, as the spring 
Scatters the cloistral wake-robins in May ; 
For I am over-weary, and would dwell 
Only with fantasy ; would droop and drowse 
Lulled as with lutes ; would lie on blossom-beds 
Scented with savors of oblivion ; 
Down paradisal streams would glide 'neath sails 
Tinted like golden gonfalons ; would taste 
Honeys more luscious than are those that ooze 
From the bruised cells of Hymettean combs ! 
All this for gift is thine, O almoner ; 
Then speed thee on thy pinions snow-fall soft 
Adown the voids and vastnesses of night ! 



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THE WIND BY THE SEA 
All day the wind blew in-shore off the sea ; 
All day the reefs raged, and the flying spume, 
Like multitudinous snow-flakes, flecked the sand. 
Above, athwart a heaven cobalt-blue. 
Like squadrons of white horsemen, charged 

the scud. 
Then the light failed, a sudden sunset made 
The wide wan west a momentary rose. 
And the night came companioned by one star. 
And still the wind blew in-shore off the sea 
Plangent, and still the insatiable reefs 
Mouthed, and made mock of music, and men's 

sleep 
Was haunted by bewilderment of dreams, — 
Unfathomable visions of the waste 
Where Ocean, sole, majestic and supreme, 
Weltered, with swirl of waters, evermore. 



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Ships and their sundered masts, and rent white 

sails. 
And cordage coils, and bodies of stark men. 
And women's faces with fear-fixed eyes, — 
These formed the weird dream-fabric; then 

the dawn 
Broke bleak and pallid and inscrutable. 
And still the wind, coeval with hoar Time, 
The nomad wind, blew in-shore off the sea. 



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A NIGHT ETCHING 
A world of groping shadows vast and vague ; 
Above, the vault unstudded by a star, 
A mighty and mysterious gulf of gloom. 
A low wind moaning like a restless soul ; 
Save this no sound, but everywhere a sense 
Of stealthy presences, forms of the void 
As immaterial as the shapes of dream. 
Then suddenly a stabbing shaft of gold 
Piercing the blackness, and the hurried throb 
Of human footsteps ; then a woman's voice 
Vibrant with joy, and from a wide-flung door, 
Unhesitant, the outstretched arms of Love ! 



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LONELINESS 
I have known loneliness ; — the mountain peak 
Scarred by the lightnings, and communicant 
With searing suns and the pale lips of stars ; 
The gaping canyon riven deep in earth 
As with titanic cleavage ; the gray sea. 
Sunless and sad, unswept by any sail ; 
The desert, void from marge to shimmering 

marge. 
Only a vulture veering in the vault; 
The roaring street, its jostling myriads. 
And yet no face the fond face of a friend ; 
But none of these so poignandy has pierced 
My heart, as has one small deserted room 
Where she was wont to sit within whose eyes 
Love was perpetual guest, — the little room 
( O blinding tears ! ) whereto she comes no more. 



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VAGRANT WIND OF AUTUMN 
Came a subtile, vagrant wind of autumn 
Whispering, murmuring, calling at my case- 
ment; 
^^O arise!" it said, ^^ arise, and follow!" 
Straightway I obeyed ; arose, and followed. 
Through the autumn silences it led me. 
Through the amber mysteries of autumn. 
Till I reached the portal of a woodland. 
There my love ( O ecstasy ! ) awaited, 
In her eyes the olden magic rapture. 
On her lips the olden magic laughter. 
Wide I oped my arms, but, lo, she faded 
As a vision at the touch of morning ! 
Then the flood-tide of the years about me 
Surged . . . once more was I engulfed in sorrow. 



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Pitiless and poignant wind of autumn, 
To thine empty lure I bar my casement, 
Yet in vain, my heart still hears thee calling 
Calling .... calling .... 



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NIGHT VOICES 
I love the varied voices of the Night, 
Whether they be the obedient slaves of man. 
Or be of nature's soul interpreters. 
Day's over-arching amplitudes distract 
With changing lights ; the subtleties of sound 
Touch not the inner ear ; but when the blue 
Purples, or blackens, and the pale stars flow^er. 
Then every tone rings masterful. The bell. 
Pealing its resonant clamor from the spire. 
Peoples my mind with fancies. I grow strong 
Hearing the pulses of great engines throb. 
I journey down far pathways when the wind 
Calls at the casement invitations rude. 
The rain-beat is my surf upon the shore ; 
The cricket's chirp my tremulous tettix-note 
From Argive meadows sloping to the sea ; 
The night-bird's trill my Syrian nightingale 



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In dim Damascus gardens. But no voice 
Falls from the innumerable lips of Night 
Like the rapt voice of Silence, bidding man 
Reach up, responsive to the Infinite. 



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AT KENILWORTH 
When summer's brightest gold was on the grain. 
One morn we loitered in the court that lies 
Between the massive, jutting Norman tower 
And Leicester's toppling tower at Kenilworth. 
Around the windows of the banquet-hall 
The ivy wove its emerald festoons ; 
Within, the wind alone was roisterer. 
White clouds flung sleepy shadows. A blue dove 
Perched in a vacant niche. The wild-brier rose. 
And tufts innumerable of flowering grass. 
From riven wall and crumbling turret waved, — 
The casde's only bravery. 

"Turn back,'' 
We cried, " upon thy course, O Time ! 
Give us one hour of thy rich-storied past, 
And people it with such rare pageantry 



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As England's Virgin Queen here looked upon ! 
From resurrected heights let streamers flaunt, 
And men-at-arms troop by, and mailed knights. 
And steeds that prance to trumpets pealing loud ! 
While clear within yon eastern oriel set 
The lovely, death-o'ershadowed face of her 
Whose name the wind forever round these 

towers 
Dirges night-long, howe'er so gay the year ! '' 

In vain, in vain ! — no wizard hand gave heed, 
Waving a wand, and bidding dead years rise ; 
But down the breeze low echo-wraiths were 

borne. 
Vague as the whispers of the poplar leaf 
What time it silvers 'neath the midnight moon ; 
And through arched door and ivied window- 
space 



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And jagged breach, where fell the flood-light 

warm, 
Thronged shadow-forms that fancy gave the 

guise 
Of mortals animate. 

Hark ! — was that a bell ? 
Broad noon, and dreaming, — what an hour for 

dreams ! 
But who dreams not at haunted Kenilworth ? 



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CARDINAL FLOWERS 
Where melancholy marshes meet and merge 
In darkling aisleways of luxuriant green, 
The cardinal flaunts its crimson flame, and 

streaks 
The emerald glooms. In far, forgotten years, 
A many-tined monarch of the wood, 
Pierced by a savage shaft, in death-flight blind 
Plunged past, and sprinkled the receptive mould 
With ruddy life-drops. When the year again 
Kindled with August heats, here burst in bloom 
These tapering torch-flowers that light autumn 

down 
The pilgrim path that summer's feet have 

pressed. 



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TWO MEN 
One was a portly man of place, who wore 
An emerald turban, for his eyes had seen 
The Kaaba, and his reverent knees had pressed 
The sacred Mount of Light. Fat flocks were 

his 
Of sheep and goats upon the grassy hills; 
And his were packed bazars, — rich webs and 

rare 
From Bagdad looms, and from far Daghestan ; 
His lips breathed prayer at each muezzin call ; 
His hand gave alms upon the public ways ; 
His neighbors held him sure of Paradise. 

The other was a houseless wanderer, one 
Who owned nor flocks nor store of fabrics fair. 
But only the coarse raiment on his back. 
Never his lips with prayer were prodigal ; 



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His hand bestowed small alms, for gold and he 
Had little fellowship. Yet those who heard 
The tales he spun, sitting beneath the shade 
Of drowsing walnuts in the heart of noon, 
Or in the tent's door, or in fountained court, 
When evening airs wooed forth the nightingale, 
Declared some grace from Allah dwelt with him. 

One morn it chanced from opposite highways 

came 
These twain unto a space before a mosque 
Wherein a throng had gathered round a man 
Gaunt-eyed and lean. '' A thief ! '' the shout 

went up ; 
At this they both approached, and, seeing him 
Who wore the emerald turban, loudly cried 
The culprit's captor ; '' Mark, O sir, this knave 
That pleads for mercy, having stolen but now 



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Three wheaten loaves fresh from the baking. 

Speak, 
Thou cringing cur, thou art before thy judge ! " 
Then he that was accused straightway set forth 
A pity-moving tale of want and woe. 
" He hath a cunning tongue, '' one listener said. 
Another, ''Nay, his story bears truth's mint! 
Why should we deem a coin base counterfeit 
That rings so fairly ? " And the captor cried, 
A trifle tempered in his mood of wrath, 
'' Had I some scanty payment for my loss 
The man might go. " But stern of voice broke in 
He that was hailed as judge. '' Shall subtle speech 
Make mock of justice, though offense be slight ? 
Too credulous by far are ye, who know 
That lies and breath on many lips are one. " 
Thereat a murmur rose, and prison-ward 



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The hapless recreant would have swift been 

haled, 
Had not the wanderer with imperious word 
Stayed every step. Within his hand he held 
A tattered purse, and plucking forth therefrom 
His all, he said to him that lost the loaves, 
^' Mercy and justice may be sometimes kin ; 
Behold thy recompense ! release the man ! " 

Passed the rich judge into the mosque to pray; 
The wanderer sought the city's distant gate. 
Brother, which, think you, was the nearer Allah ? 



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CRICKET 
Cricket, chirring in the autumn twilight, 
Little kinsman, 

I, like you, the unknown path must follow 
Into darkness , — 
One day into darkness. 

Would I might, with your ecstatic buoyance. 
Fare forth singing ! 



26 Blank Verse Pastels 

AN ATHENIAN NIGHT 
You recall our ramble in the moonlight, — 
In the flood-tide of Athenian moonlight, — 
Where above us, like a beetling bastion. 
Like a massy, cyclopean bulwark. 
The acropolis stood looming darkly ? 
You recall the night-sounds, — the blithe chorus 
Of the boon companions of the cafes 
Sipping the divine Zantean vintage ; 
The belated note of the cicada. 
Dreaming still of the hot pulse of sunset ; 
The low-v^hispering breeze amid the lime-trees. 
Soft as are the vov^s of loitering lovers 
Loath to part ? I know that you recall it, — 
All the golden radiance of the heavens. 
All the wondrous witchery that engirt us. 
Every foot of earth tradition-hallowed. 
Every sound a strophe Sophoclean, 



Blank Verse Pastels 27 

Every stone or shard a treasure classic ! 
Vain are words in voicing such a vision ! 
Beauty, — 'tis a figment that eludes us ! 
Yet, ah, yet, that ramble in the moonlight, — 
In the full flood of Athenian moonlight, — 
How it ever holds me, ever haunts me ! 



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A HARMONY 
All of the waves were a blending of azure and 

beryl ; 
All of the heaven was turquoise from sea-rim 

to zenith ; 
Just the faint fleck of a cloud o'er the westerly 

pine-tops ; 
Glinted the gold of the sun on the wing of an 

osprey, — 
On the white throat of an osprey. The deli- 
cate glamour 
Brought you to mind, and I brooded on how it 

would touch you, 
Thrill you, — the harmony wrought out of 

morning's impalpable beauty. 



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AN EDINBURGH TWILIGHT 
The west was veined with amethyst. The 

towers, 
The grim gray towers that pierced the chill 

gray air, 
Throbbed on a sudden with a pulse of bells 
That underneath a kindlier apse of heaven 
Had seemed miraculous with melody 
Serene and silvery ; but now their tongues 
Smote cold and melancholy, as is the chime 
At midnight from a headland where the sea 
Surges with broken sobbings. Through the 

peal, 
In mirthful treble from the thronged park. 
Sounded the children's voices as they played, — 
The voices of the children of the poor. 
Seeing them roll and romp upon the grass 
Around the fountain, flinging bursts of shout 



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As buoyant as the opal jets of mist 
Tossed feathery from a score of gushing mouths. 
Heavy upon the boding heart there fell 
The irrevocable sadness of the years, 
The pathos of the ever-hasting days. 
Not bigger v^ith the burden of their gloom 
Were the bleak, bristling bastions high above, — 
The castle with its memories of red wars, — 
Than the on-coming, over-frowning years. 
Joy hung its transient halo round the heads 
Of those that frolicked. Haply one of them. 
Scaling the iron bounds of circumstance. 
Would win the walled rose-gardens of the rich ; 
But, ah, the others ! To their bed of birth 
No gracious fairy came with happy gifts. 
But that grim trinity. Toil, Want and Woe, 
Who bore for guerdon, - — anguish of the flesh 
And spirit-numbing travail of the soul, 



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With but a tiny candle-flame of love 

To light the vista to the darkening end. 

And even this to many an one denied. 

Up through the deepening violet of the dusk 

Still rang the childish voices. 

To the ear 
Of one intent upon the volumed sound 
Of grand orchestral music, from the mesh 
Of chords harmonious will sometimes leap 
A single strain, and thrill the being's core. 
And burn the brain like fire, or soothe like 

prayer. 
So from the blended mirth-shouts soared a note 
That distance, or the foolish, freaksome wind, 
Warped to a plaint of such tense misery 
That tearful fancy fitted it to words. 
Thus did it seem from out the mouths of babes, 



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Unguessing yet the heirdom of their birth. 
This supplication quavered up to God, — 
"" O pity Thou the children of the poor! " 



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A MOSLEM ROSARY 
From a slim-boled tree 
( Fragrant sandalwood ) 
Were these polished beads 
Deftly wrought. 

Some swart Mussulman 
Told them o'er and o'er 
Ere through chance they knew 
Alien hands. 

What his lifted prayers ? 
Doubtless much as ours ; — 
Spare us and protect 
And forgive ! 



34 Blank Verse Pastels 

Who or how or where, — 
Sooth, what matters it. 
If the thought rise pure 
From the heart ! 



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ABU ABAS 
Poor Abu Abas trod the thorns of earth 
From birth to death, and never plucked the rose. 
When he passed out on paracUsal paths 
Men hailed him saint, for from his holy lips 
Had praise unfaltering fallen, and no boon 
From Allah had he craved. 

^ Pilgrim, if thou. 
Beside the rain-worn granite of his tomb, 
Shouldst lift thy voice in reverential prayer, 
Fear not to ask thy heart's most dear desire ! 
For Abu Abas' sake w^ill Allah hear. 



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VALENTINE AND ASTERIUS 
High on his throne the laureled Caesar sat, 
Knitting his brows, and muttering under breath, 
^^ I must not hearken further lest I yield, 
And join my voice in worship with this man. 
And be the jest of every banquet board. 
And know my name is bandied at the baths, 
* The emperor bows to Christ ! ' That mock- 
ing sound 
Would bear too keen a sting. It must not be. '^ 
He raised an arm wherefrom the purple robe 
Falling revealed a disc of hammered gold. 
Where one sunk ruby shot a sunset ray. 
A guard approached ; his face was like a mask 
Whereon there shone no breathing sign of 

aught 
Save dumb obedience. ^^ Thy charge, '' said he 



Blank Verse Pastels 37 

Who held all Rome within his hollow palm 
As so much water to be spilled at will, 
^^ Unto the righteous judge, Asterius, goes; 
His it shall be to chasten. ^' From the place 
The prisoner passed, and, lo, a sudden cloud 
Obscured the sun ! 

Before the justest man 
That meted out the ancient laws of Rome 
Stood Valentinus, and upraised his voice 
In fearless praises of the Son of God. 
^^Hear thou, O judge,'' this dauntless Christian 

cried, 
" He whom I worship is the living Light, 
Dispelling darkness, scattering the shades 
Of doubt and error, bringing radiance 
To those that sit in shadow ! " 



38 Blank Verse Pastels 

'' Say'st thou so, '' 
Asterius asked, ^^ and in the face of death ? '' 
^^ Aye, '' quoth the intrepid one, " and had this 

trunk 
Thrice three necks for thy headsman still my 

tongue 
Should cry, as each was severed, hailing Him 
Who bled on Golgotha the living Light ! " 
When meet two valiant, trial-tested men, 
Knowing true bravery for more than breath, — 
For more than words tossed, wisp-like, on the 

wind, — 
Though lips be dumb each owns the other kin. 
Asterius was moved ; such fixed faith 
Eclipsed the pole-star. Could the elder gods. 
Supreme on far Olympus, fire the soul 
With such divine devotion ? Nay, not they ! 
An eager thought had birth within the brain 



Blank Verse Pastels 39 

Of him, the wisest, justest judge in Rome ; 
For in his home there bode a foster child, 
A loving little maid, whose dark, deep eyes 
Had never looked with fondness on a flower. 
Nor any beauty of the glad green earth. 
Nor any glory of the changeful sky. 
This Light, this living Light! Might not a 

beam 
Shatter the gloom that shrouded her young life ? 
A word was spoken and the maiden brought ; 
Then turned he on the prisoner : 

^^ Thou hast said, 
O Christian, that thy Christ sheds living light. 
If on the veiled eyes of this dear child 
He will let fall an earth-revealing ray, 
Then shalt thou call me brother, for thy Christ 
Shall be forevermore both thine and mine ! '^ 



40 Blank Verse Pastels 

One hand toward heaven did Valentinus lift, 
And with the other touched the trembling lids 
Of her whose night had never known a dawn, 
While like an inspiration soared his prayer. 
Then — saith the legend — was the shadow rent. 
And on his knees the justest judge in Rome 
Fell, with a sob of joy, confessing Christ. 



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THE ROSE OF HELL 
Through the potence of the earth-creator. 
By the crater of a grim volcano, 
Braving fire and ashen avalanches, 
Springs a blossom. 

Pallid are its petals, sapless, scentless ; 
Yet 'tis haunted by the spell of beauty ; 
Rose of Hell, through some incongruous fancy 
Men have named it. 

What the lesson of this strange fruition. 
Born of seeming death and desolation. 
Save that Loveliness — the rose — should hallow 
All life's pathv^ays ! 



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A SPRING AFTERNOON 
We sat above the swiftly-winding Wye 
And looked on Tintern. Slender hyacinths 
Around us swayed their peerless purple bells ; 
Soft set in emerald showed the wild-plum 

bloom ; 
Young birch leaves silvered round embattled 

crags, 
And skies were flawless. Perfume-laden airs 
Blew drowsily, and, as the golden day 
Waned, and the sallow visage of the moon 
Peered from the deepening sapphire, arch on arch 
The abbey grew in grandeur. Radiant rays 
Illumed the nave, and paved the cloister walks ; 
The vacant windows flamed with sunset fires 
In transitory splendor. Girt by peace, — 
The peace that broods o'er vernal Monmouth- 
shire, — 



Blank Verse Pastels 43 

We lingered till the timid nightingales 
Took up their burden on the edge of eve ; 
Then, garland-laden, loath we loitered down. 
Through silent dew-fall and fast-purpling dusk. 



44 Blank Verse Pastels 

THE ANCHORITE 

[ According to Cheshire tradition, the last Saxon king of England, Harold, did not die on the 
field of Hastings, but lived to a green old age at Chester in an anchorite's cell, revealing his 
identity only on his death-bed. ] 

A cell in Chester^ A man clad like a hermit lying upon a cot. 
A confessor. The former speaks, 

I, father, am that king that men deem dead, 
Harold the Saxon. All these dragging years. 
Since round me fell on Hastings' fatal field 
(Where Norman arrows rained like blighting 

hail) 
Kinsmen and liegemen, in this narrow cell 
Have I in solemn meditation dwelt. 
After the magic healment of my wound. 
Compassed by one who wore a palmer's weeds, 
Hither I came. My guide was he who 

wrought 
The wondrous cure. To him and him alone 
Was I the king. To others what I seemed 



Blank Verse Pastels 45 

I was, — forsooth, a holy anchorite, 
One bent on heavenly things, to earth forsworn. 
My grave preserver, a mysterious man. 
Learned in strange lore, blest with the gift of 

tongues, 
Passed from my presence here, and ne'er again 
From that dim hour have I beheld his face. 
But this I know, — if still his footsteps fall 
On mortal paths, no secret-spreading word 
Of me has dropped, nor will, from off his lips. 
'Tis better so. I that am quick am dead. 
To all intent, beneath six feet of clay 
My form that soon shall rest already lies. 
I felt the struggle vain from that first hour 
When, raven-like, the bodeful tidings came 
That Norman William's vessels were a-wing. 
High-fallen from power, I had no heart to scale 
Again the dizzy heights of eminence. 



46 Blank Verse Pastels 

No weal my resurrection could have wrought. 
But added woe, else had I leaped to life. 
Here have I let the surging tides of men 
Sweep past me, working such smaU deeds of 

good 
As opportunity has made possible. 
My conqueror's sudden ending have I known 
And gloried not therein, for bitterness. 
Fed by regret, dwells not within my heart. 
'Tis true I would the heavy hand of power 
Lay lighter on the poor, and when the years 
Have many times re-circled, this may be. 
Now must I meet that hoUow-visaged one 
Who unto most men shows but once his face. 
Yet twice to me. Upon the clouds of war 
Before he rode, a demon terrible ; 
Now comes he softiy, girt about with peace, 
A welcome guest. 



/ Blank Verse Pastels 47 

Place thou within my hands 
Thy sacred crucifix, and fling apart 
Yon shrouded casement, that day's golden 

beams 
May light my pathway unto Paradise. 



48 



Blank Verse Pastels 



A SEA SHELL 
It has been given unto me to know 
The secrets of the sea, — its multiform 
Magic and mystery. Though I may not reach 
The clear, communicable speech of man, 
Unfoldings fathomless have I to tell 
Of things miraculous, and still must strive 
To break the spell that girds me. Hence do I 
Make ceaseless murmur, and could one translate 
My inarticulate voice, his lips w^ould hold 
The vrorld-old revelations of the sea. 



Blank Verse Pastels 49 

A GEODE 
You see this ugly cincture of dull stone ? — 
This strange globe-shapen something grimed 

and scarred ? 
Smite it asunder, and you will behold 
Irradiant beauty. 

It is duty's type, 
Showing a gnarled shell ! yet pierce its heart. 
And lo, what diamond lustres emanate ! 



50 Blank Verse Pastels 

THE HOUSE AT HEBRON 
As in dusty desert guise I wandered 
Through the ancient tortuous lanes of Hebron, 
From the dimness of an open doorway 
Rose and fell a rune of eerie wailing, 
Merging with the cry of the muezzin 
Summoning the faithful from the mosque-tower. 
From the tower above the tomb of Joseph. 
Near the doorway stood a tattered dervish. 
Leaning on his staff of knotted olive. 
Pondering, methought, some puzzling problem. 
Gravely giving him a salutation, — 
" Brother, with you be the peace of Allah ! 
Read,'' I begged, "the rune that seems your 

riddle!'' 
"Aye," cried he, — "why Death, the gaunt 

black camel. 
One day kneels at every pilgrim's doorway ! " 



Blank Verse Pastels 51 

A LUTE SPEAKS 
Though you may winnow by your tender touch 
Rich meed of harmony from my taut strings, 
*Tis not love's highest rapture such as bides 
Within my heart, there waiting yearningly 
The rhythmic birth-hour. But let her slim hand, 
( She who is Beauty's bright embodiment ) 
Light as a bird's wing float from fret to fret, 
And spheric melody shall know a voice. 
Do not your soul-chords passionately respond 
To the caressing radiance of her eyes ? 
Think, then, how mine would vibrate could 

her clasp 
A moment fold me ! All the gamut's range, 
Consuming blisses and despairs divine 
Would throb and thrill along the entranced air, 
And swoon in very ecstasy. 



52 Blank Verse Pastels 

OUT OF THE HEART OF WINTER 
Out of the heart of winter hear my cry, 
O vernal goddess of the violet eyes ! 
Loosen a little these frost-forged bonds 
With hope's warm sunlight, so that I may bear, 
Soul-steadfast, the succession of the days 
Until thy coming ! Would that now thy feet, 
Sandaled with green, pressed soft upon the hills ! 
Would that the low persuasion of thy voice 
Were winning back the leaf upon the bough, 
And the shy, sweet forerunners of the rose ! 
Hark, the wind-spirits of the gracious South 
Across the solemn snow-leagues bring me 

word ! — 
^^ O Spring's most constant lover, '^ they entreat, 
" Forsake thou not her altars, for the hour 
That shall reveal her glory wings apace, 
A boon, a blessing, a beatitude ! " 



Blank Verse Pastels 53 

Thus speak her herald-harbingers, and I, 
Who ever am enamored of the Spring, 
Possess my soul in peace, and wait for her. 



54 Blank Verse Pastels 

THE MAPLE 
Wandering down a slope of windless woodland^ 
In the hot and hazy heart of August, 
On my vision burst a scarlet maple. 
Like a torch it lit the forest twilight, 
Flamed and glowed as does a matchless ruby 
Deeply set within an emerald circlet. 
All the sounds and scents were those of 

summer, — 
Cricket chirr and rasp of the cicada. 
Wood-balm attar and the dry aroma 
Sun-distilled from out the boughs of balsams, — 
Yet behold this lambent sign, this token 
Of the nearing footfalls of the autumn ! 
Out of waning and decay this marvel ! 
Miracle were scarce too much to call it, — 
Radiant beauty born of dissolution ! 
As we journey toward life's days autumnal. 



Blank Verse Pastels 55 

For a stay unto the soul, — a solace, — 
Hope's low whispering to ear of mortals 
Echoes, — ^^ Beauty born of dissolution ! " 



56 



Blank Verse Pastels 



BY ELISHA'S FOUNTAIN 
O my desert brother, 
O my comrade Musil, 
Does your heart remember 
That enamored twilight 
By Elisha's Fountain ? 
How the moon o'er Moab 
To the song of bulbuls 
Rose, a targe of amber 
Wrought by djinn or genii ? 
How from out the thicket, — 
Laurel, thorn and ilex, — 
Glided forth the dancers, 
Bedouin men and maidens ? 
How a chant impassioned 
Swelled from blended voices. 
While a one-stringed viol 
And a drum of goat's hide 



Blank Verse Pastels 57 

Made barbaric music ? 
Then the dizzy measure 
Of the lissome dancers ! — 
How they threaded through it, 
Glided, crouched and bounded. 
Spun, advanced, retreated, 
Tossing fold and streamer, — 
Phantasmal, fantastic ! 
'Twas as though Aladdin 
Out of space abysmal 
Sudden had evoked them. 
And as sudden bade them 
In the void to vanish. 
There where they had footed, — 
Swirl of gauze and shimmer 
Of curved blades uplifted, — 
Naught now save the bulbul 
Severing the silence 



58 Blank Verse Pastels 

With his golden cadence, 
And the moon o'er Moab ! 
(Ah, the moon o'er Moab ! ) 

O my desert brother, 
O my comrade Musil, 
Does your heart remember ? 



Blank Verse Pastels 59 

MOODS OF THE MARSHES 
MORNING 

A sudden splendor of ethereal gold 
Transmuting every swaying beryl reed 
Into a lance of amber, changing pools 
Of delicate chrysolite to topaz deep 
As the sun's heart, and the horizon line 
Into a palpitating mist of fire. 

NOON 

A swoon of burnt-out blue, and the dry drone 
Of insect violins innumerous, keyed 
To tense staccato ; orient fragrances, 
Cloying as musk, lulling as poppied dreams 
Of Shiraz garden-closes lush with bloom. 



60 



Blank Verse Pastels 



EVENING 

Purples and amethysts and violets, 
And streaks of hyacinth and flecks of mauve ; 
The swoop of swallow wings, and the pale moth 
Poised o'er the gem-like chalice of a flower, 
A-thirst for its first honey-draught of dusk. 



Blank Verse Pastels 61 

AGATHA 
Upon the morning when the Seamew sailed 
( The vast void vault like lapis-lazuli ) 
She climbed Hope Headland, and there watched 

the ship 
Unfold its wide white wings to catch the wind. 
Her stalwart lover from the fading deck 
Flung back his fond farewells till distance made 
His form a waving manikin, — then naught ; 
And she beheld the green arms of the sea 
Enfold the craft that bore him, and the waste 
Was as a field unfurrowed by a plow. 
'Twas spring at earliest flush ; arbutus buds 
Showed virginal between the dead oak leaves 
Along the inland wood-ways. Morn by morn 
She scaled the narrow path, and let her gaze 
Sweep o'er the empty reaches of the brine 
Until the violet, rose and foxglove flower 



62 Blank Verse Pastels 

In turn had faded, and the yellowed year 
Grew miserly of its fast-slipping gold. 
Then the mad master of the Hounds of Storm 
Let slip from leash his pack, and though they 

mouthed 
Insistent their loud menace in her ears, 
Hope lured her to its Headland. Then a day. 
When the white arctic welter whelmed the 

world, 
Dawned like a pallid dream ; the hours dragged on 
In moaning travail, but, ere dusk, a lull 
Lay on the blurred blank ridges of the land. 
^^ You will not go ? " they softly plead, but she, — 
^' I must be there to greet him if he comes ; 
I promised." And nor lifted hand nor voice 
Restrained her, for there shone upon her face 
Resolve, as radiant as a halo hung 
Round a madonna's head. 



Blank Verse Pastels 63 

As toward the crest 
She toiled (Hope Headland grim above the 

main ), 
She heard the sound as of a myriad tongues 
In simultaneous clamor, seemed to feel 
The shock of sledges multitudinous 
Smiting the ribbed foundations of the rock. 
And as her eyes through blown spindrift and 

spume 
Pierced the abyss, lo, what was once a barque 
Deep-wallowing in the trough ! A titan surge 
Lifted the shattered hulk, and hurled it sheer 
From out the seething element, and she saw 
One last lone figure lashed upon a spar. 
And knew the livid face. 

They found her there 
In the gray twilight watches, her pale lips 
Forever sealed by silence. With the dawn 



64 Blank Verse Pastels 

The yawning maw of the insatiate sea 

Gave up its prey. 'Tis Hope Headland no more. 

Nay, but the Hill of Heartbreak ! 



Blank Verse Pastels 65 

DAISIES 
Ox-eyed daisies in the grass, 
How the fond wind wooes them ! 
Do you wonder. 
Do you marvel 
( Ah, the bonnie bevy ! ) 
That he plays the lover ? 

Ox-eyed daisies in the grass 
Sway and nod in answer ; 
Were not maidens 
Lipped with laughter, 
( Ah, the brood beguiling ! ) 
An' it did not please them. 



66 Blank Verse Pastels 

Ox-eyed daisies in the grass, 
Fie, the bold coquetting ! 
'Tis the sunlight, — 
Passionate sunlight, — 
They are pledged and vowed to. 
All the golden sweetings ! 



Blank Verse Pastels 67 

AT ROXMOR 
We saw the shadows deepen round the Dome 
In majesty of purple ; not a sail 
Voyaged o'er the vault, but one cloud-galleon, 
Moored in the golden harbors of the west, 
Flushed like the parted petals of a rose. 
From slope to slope, at mellow intervals, 
Floated the tenuous flute-note of the thrush ; 
Out of the hpllow haunts of Panther Kill 
Hooted an owl, until o'er Wittenburg, 
Grim monarch of the mountains, a lone star 
Burned, a fire-opal on the breast of Night. 



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